


Strangers Don't Just Fall from the Sky

by AnnaTheFallen



Category: The Devil's Carnival (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Love Triangle, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 18:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaTheFallen/pseuds/AnnaTheFallen
Summary: The arrival of an uninvited carnival guest leaves the Devil stranded in what could turn out to be a manic pixie dream girl nightmare. The whole carnival is clamoring to know the real story. Where does she belong? Even in Hell, strangers don't just fall from the sky...(A little mature content, and I added a warning for "Graphic Depictions of Violence," just in case. Even the films themselves aren't squeamish about showing torture and death, after all.)





	Strangers Don't Just Fall from the Sky

            It must have been a cold day in Hell.

Satan’s pointy ears detected a faint shouting coming from above his head. He had a difficult choice to make in a split second: let the girl in white fall from the murky sky onto the hard, dusty ground, or catch her. In the end he reached out - why not? It wasn't like anything interesting ever happened down here. This could be a good day.

            "Sorry!" said the girl in his arms. "Oh my god, sorry!" She was out of breath, cheeks flushed, trying to brush pieces of brambles off her dress.

            Satan was transfixed. He set her upright gently, like she was fragile. He didn't know anything beloved enough for a comparison. She flinched as he reached near her face, but he merely picked a twig out of her hair. "You shouldn't be here," he said, one finger daring to stroke her cheekbone. "Where did you come from?"

            "I came from," she began matter-of-factly, but stopped short. She grabbed his sleeve. "Do you know where I came from?"

            Normally he would have removed her hand from his sleeve and carried on walking, since the arrival of carnival guests was no extraordinary matter. But this girl was. "You don't know where you came from?"

            "I can't remember," she said. "All I know is, I was falling… there were these beams of light, maybe? And then there were these vines all woven together, but they parted to let me through, and then -"

            "The ceiling of Hell parted to let you through?" he said. It wasn’t possible. It had never happened. What world had rejected this pretty, sweet creature?

            "Hell?" she replied, stunned. "Then who are you?"

            He stared at her, mouth slightly open. Sinners always remember. So what was she? Then he registered that she'd asked a question. "I have, uh, many names…"

            "So I should know you?" Her eyes widened. They were so blue...

            "What do you know about the Devil?" he asked rhetorically, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along back to his chambers.

            He sat her down at his vanity and began to clean the scrapes and cuts littering her arms and legs.

            "Satan keeps a first-aid kit?" she teased, and then winced. The cotton ball he was pressing to her calf was soaked in something that stung.

            He just mumbled, "For little emergencies like you…" He saw her smile at him, but put it from his mind. Nobody likes Satan. That's supposed to be a ground rule, right?

            He closed the kit and sat down on the other end of the bench. "So you don't know who you are, and you don't remember where you were," he said. "That leaves a lot of room for re-learning."

            She scooted closer to him to start organizing his makeup. "Will you help me?" She cast a quick glance in his direction.

            "Why not?" said Satan, although unsure of whether he was agreeing to help her find her way or alphabetize his eyeshadow. Hesitantly, he began to assist with the organization of every beauty product he owned. He realized soon that nobody needed as many pans of blush as he owned.

            "For the Prince of Darkness, you’re not actually so unpleasant," she said, lining up the lipsticks by color.

            The Ticket-Taker entered then. "We've had a breach of The Rules, Sire-"

            "Oh fuck off," said Satan.

            "Who is this?" interrupted the Ticket-Taker. "I don't remember her on the roster of sinners for today." The girl smiled gaily at the Ticket-Taker. He furrowed his brow. _Strange..._

            "She's not a sinner," said Satan, the rumbling of his voice shaking the foundations of his house. "Now leave before I find some painful way to make you."

            The Ticket-Taker scurried off without another word, save, "Yes Sire."

            "Well you're a tyrant to everyone else!" the girl accused, once the mousey Ticket-Taker had made his escape.

            "How do you expect me to run this carnival without a firm hand?" he countered, voice still rumbling in the furniture below them.

            "This is a carnival?" Her eyes suddenly lit up. "Will you show me everything?"

            He stared at her dubiously. "It's not that kind of carnival."

            "Well I'm going with or without you," she said, heading for the door.

            He scrambled to follow.

            “You know, your attention span is bewildering,” he called after her.

            “Is the weather always like this?” she asked, looking up at the gloomy purple sky.

            He released a defeated rush of air from his lungs. “Sometimes the sky is darker,” he said. “Occasionally it turns pitch black.”

            “Do you know why?” she was craning her neck to try and see the ceiling of brambles she had fallen through.

            “Well,” he said, trying to think of a way to say this that wouldn’t seem horribly egotistical. “It mostly has to do with my moods.”

            “How does that work? Did you fix it like that on purpose?” she asked. “Why on earth would you need the sky to mirror your moods?”

            “No reason,” he conceded, deflating. Nailed it.

She seemed to have a certain way of humbling him. He wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

            He led her into a large striped tent.

"What would happen if you were kind and gentle for a day?" she asked as they made their way into the metropolis of tents of carnival games.

            "I'd imagine everything would go to Hell," he said. "So to speak."

            She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you're afraid to see what it would be like."

            “I make no immediate threats,” he said, staring her down. “But were I you, I would avoid that thread of conversation.”

            She shrugged, peering around at every inch of the deserted tent. “What happens in here?” She knelt down and examined a red, wet smear soaking the straw on the floor.

            Satan grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet just as she was reaching out to touch it. “Perhaps another tent would be more interesting! How do you feel about carousels?”

            “I love them. Do you have one?”

            “Of course,” he said. “We’re carnival folk, not barbarians.” He grabbed her hand. _Or perhaps a little of both_ , he thought. “Clean up the mess in there,” he ordered an unkempt man in clown makeup and worn clothing. The man saluted the Devil and ducked into the tent immediately.

            Satan took her down back streets and in between tents. The last thing anyone needed to see was their fearless leader fraternizing with a carnival guest.

            The carousel was still and silent. The paint on the horses was grimy and chipped and the gold accents were tarnished. A faint calliope melody emanated from somewhere above their heads. “It’s not terribly impressive,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious of how dilapidated some parts of the carnival had become.

            Her face, on the other hand, lit up immediately. “It’s perfect!” She climbed up onto the deck and wove in and out of the horses to look at all of them.

            “What are you doing?” he said, struggling to hide the smile erupting from behind his authoritarian mask.

            “You have to pick your favorite horse before you ride,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s just how you do it! Come here.” She pulled him up onto the carousel with her. “I’m thinking, the black one with the silver or the white one with the turquoise things.”

            “They’re right next to each other,” observed Satan. “Do you want me to sit next to you?”

            “Of course, if you want to,” she said, mounting the white horse. The calliope music got louder by itself.

            “I have never done this,” Satan confessed over the music.

            “Are you kidding?” she cried. “If I were you, I’d be here all the time! Get on the horse; the music’s starting.”

            The Devil climbed onto the black horse, and the carousel started to spin. Slowly it began, the horses moving up and down hesitantly, and then a little faster. His eyes were fixed on her: the wide smile on her face, the shining eyes, the unabashed joy. Her hair and the white fabric of her dress flowed out behind her as the carousel accelerated. She closed her eyes and whooped, and, laughing, looked at him. He froze that moment in his mind, her open-mouthed laughter, those big blue eyes trained on him.

            She reached her arm out. For a moment he didn’t understand what she wanted, and then she grabbed his hand. It was like slow-motion for him. Around they went. He never wanted it to end, and yet he couldn’t care less about the ride.

            When the carousel finally slowed and she took her hand away, his senses gradually returned to him. They stopped spinning, but her smile never faltered. He lifted her off the horse and onto the ground. “See?” she said. “Carousels are the best!”

            He was still staring, slightly dazed, at her face. “It’s wonderful.”

            “Sire!” came a voice from behind him, shattering his reverie.

            “I am not your therapist,” growled Satan, rounding on the very small man. “Nor am I your maid. If you have a petty concern, the Ticket-Taker is everywhere to be found!”

            “I just meant… Hi… Hello…” The very small man disappeared behind a curtain, looking hurt.

            “How can you be so mean?” cried the girl.

            He waved her off, fuming.

            She ran to catch up with him and walked half a pace behind him through the carnival. “Good leaders don’t treat their subjects like slaves.”

            “I told you to leave it alone,” he snarled.

            “I will not! I will never,” she retorted. “This isn’t right.”

            "Listen here." His voice boomed all around them and he stopped in his tracks. "I do what needs to be done around here, and it's certainly none of your business!"

            Instead of cowering, like the two clowns who happened to be walking by, she stood up taller and put her hands on her hips. "Then go away," she challenged. "What do you want with me? I'm just another guest in your stupid carnival. Nobody said you had to hang out with me. Why aren't you, like, torturing me or something?"

            He glared at her. His vision started to shake along with the rest of his body. "See how you like this place alone, then."

            "Not a problem," she retorted at his retreating back.

            His heart sunk as they walked in separate directions. He didn't have one, but it sunk anyway.

\--=----__----~~--

            "How do you play this game?" she asked a man in a tall hat that sagged on his head.

            He leered at her with eyes like great, pupil-less lamps. “You throw this ball into that hoop”- He pointed at a moth-eaten basketball hoop on the wall. “Three times, and you get a prize.” He gestured toward a cup of big, red, heart-shaped lollipops.

            “Okay!” She grinned back at the man, whose head bobbed back and forth like a buoy, attached precariously to his shoulders.

            After she threw the first ball, she whipped her head around to smile ecstatically at the man in the top hat. He did not seem to share her enthusiasm. Her face fell when his eyes bulged and his grimace of seething irritation and boredom melted into open-mouthed shock. He grabbed the hat as it fell backwards off of his head. Suddenly determined to see his face if she won, she tossed the second ball. When the ball cleared the hoop with a “swish,” she peeked at the man’s face again. He took off the ratty hat to wipe sweat from his brow.

            She aimed once more and…

            _DING DING DING DING!_ The grimy lightbulbs around the backboard flashed dimly in quick succession, sans the broken ones, to the sound of a dull cowbell.

            The man, ashen-faced, clutched the hat to his chest and raised one shaky finger to point at her. “You!”

            They had drawn a small crowd.

            The girl peered over her shoulder and found she had an audience of carnival folk. There were three women with painted faces and colorful corsets, whispering to each other. Next to them were a few members of a brass band, instruments casually slung over their shoulders, and a tall man with green skin and cold, serpentine eyes. “Are you alright, sir?” she said, approaching the top hat man. Her voice broke. Something about all the attention made her uneasy. “She won,” muttered one of the corseted women. “Who the hell is she?” hissed the trombone player. Not a single person offered congratulations.

            The man in the ill-fitting hat backed away from her. “Nobody wins this game!”

            “Well, clearly, they haven’t been trying hard enough,” replied the girl.

            “This game is rigged!” he shouted. “It is impossible to win this game!”

            The crowd erupted in cautious murmurs. Everyone else followed the hat man’s lead and backed away, soon dispersing into the flow of regular carnival traffic. He dropped the hat in the dirt as he stumbled and ran away.

            She barely noticed as everyone disappeared, eyes fixed on the hat. She had seen something like it before - thousands of them. Hats. Hats in so many shapes, so many sizes, made of so many materials and adorned with various decorations...

            A raspy voice behind her interrupted her reverie: “You’re something new.” The tall green man sauntered over to the bucket of heart-shaped lollipops and grabbed one. “They don’t know what to make of you, my dear.” He approached the girl, getting close enough for her to smell his breath (something sweet, sickly sweet…). He took her hand and pressed the lollipop into her palm. “I believe you’ve earned this.”

            “Who are you?” asked the girl. “And what is so different about me?”

            “I’m the Twin,” said the man. “And you have done the impossible. It’s hard not to stare a little…” His voice slithered in and out of her ears like silk.

            “I don’t understand.” Her heartbeat picked up as she looked at his face, at those piercing eyes trained on her. She slowly sucked on the lollipop while she scanned his face.

            He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, toward all the booths on the street. “These games are not intended to be won.”

            “A form of punishment, I suppose,” she muttered.

            The Twin turned his back for a moment. He grabbed the top hat from the ground and dusted it off. “An unfortunate manner in which to find one’s belongings,” he said, and set the hat on his own head.

            “I suppose it is Hell, after all,” said the girl, still eyeing the hat. “It would make twisted sense to eliminate the prospect of winning.”

            “Then the question is,” said the Twin, playing idly with her hair. “What are you?”

            “What are _you_?” She stared at the rays of light mysteriously refracting off of his skin.

            He chuckled. The sound fell out of his mouth and rolled, shimmering, down his chin. He put his lips right beside her ear and whispered, “Whatever you want.”

            “You look very green and a little scaly, actually,” the girl replied absentmindedly. Where had that vision come from? All those hats. It was tugging at something in her subconscious, something she couldn’t quite remember...

            The Twin recoiled and took a step back from her. “What?”

            She trained her eye on his face. “What’s wrong?”

            “You can…” He took a hesitant step forward. “...see me?”

            She looked him up and down with furrowed brow. “Why on earth shouldn’t I?”

            “You _are_ special,” whispered the Twin, feeling his own face with his gloved fingertips. He bent down onto one knee. “What are you?” he repeated.

            The girl shook her head and wrinkled her nose. She grabbed him by the hand and yanked him into a standing position. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She gestured with the lollipop. “I’m just me. God, what is everyone’s deal down here?” She licked the lollipop.

            “Even minions of Hell can recognize beauty when it waltzes down Main Street, my dear.” He tilted her chin upwards with one finger.

            “This guy can’t show you a good time,” said someone.

She jumped.

A pale man in a black leather jacket stood lurking by the next-door tent. His dark hair was slicked back and one hand toyed with a switchblade. He smoothed the red scarf slung around his neck as he smirked at the pair, dark eyes flitting from the girl to the Twin and back. “You’re better off with someone more entertaining. Trust me…” His voice was like butter.

            “Who are you?” she said, tearing her gaze away from the Twin’s, his nose inches from hers.

The Twin hissed at the interloper.

            “I’m nobody,” said the leather-clad interloper, hands up as if in surrender. “Ask your boyfriend.”

            The Twin said nothing but, “Scorpion. Fine weather today, wouldn’t you say?” and walked off into the gloom, but not before grabbing the lollipop.

            “‘Scorpion?’” said the girl.

            “That’s what they call me,” he replied. “Walk with me.”

            She looked back, but the Twin was gone. “He took my lollipop,” she grumbled, but reluctantly followed the Scorpion towards the sounds of bustling business and chatter, however depressed.

            Directly across the sprawling town square from where the Scorpion and the girl stood was the back of a ticket booth. There sat the Ticket-Taker, slumped on a crate, wiping sweat from his brow after admitting a handful of guests and calling Security’s attention to several infractions of the rules. He spotted the girl the Devil seemed so fiercely protective of with Hell’s most notorious ladies’ man and immediately made his egress in the direction of the Devil’s quarters.

            Meanwhile, the girl was sitting down on the edge of a fountain that never spouted water, but occasionally blood.

            “It’s not much,” said the Scorpion, still smirking. “I’ll bet you’re used to better digs where you come from, right?”

            “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m terribly used to anything,” she said, fidgeting.

            “You know what the word on the street is, right?” said the Scorpion, edging closer to her on the edge of the brown-stained fountain. “They’re saying you’re an angel.”

            She stared at him open-mouthed.

            He waved the knife in front of her face comically. “Hello… You still there, doll?”

            “They’re saying I’m a what?”

            “You heard me, darlin,’” he said. “Word spreads fast around here. People can be so petty. Angel, my ass.” The last few words were syrupy, melted into the air…

            The girl didn’t hear him, suddenly lost in a vision of hundreds of yards of fabric in every color...

The Scorpion yanked her back to reality by sighing pointedly.

She tried to collect herself. She groped in the darkness of her mind for something conversational to say. “So… how did you end up here?”

            His eyes sank into black holes and she heard him flick the switchblade open.

            “Unless that’s not an appropriate question!” she squeaked. “In which case, never mind!”

            The Scorpion leaned in until she could feel his breath on her neck. Something sharp was poking her ribcage. “None… of your… business,” he breathed.

            She gasped as he pressed the point of his switchblade harder into her side.

            In an instant, the Scorpion was on the ground and the knife skidded away on the cobblestones. The girl heard the familiar booming voice before she saw her savior. “Not such a picnic, is it?”

            She threw herself into the Devil’s arms. He stood, tense, for several awkward moments before he registered the embrace and delivered two or three stiff pats on the back.

            “Okay, okay, you can stop that now,” he said, prying her off of him. There were those blue eyes again. They were so shiny, and wet with tears, like little lakes. Without even thinking, he brushed some dirt off of her white dress, not looking away from what was fast becoming his favorite body of water. The gathered crowd cowered in fear when Satan cast an eye around the square. “There is nothing to see here!” he shouted, and the ground rumbled a little. The crowd dispersed immediately. The Tamer with the whip dragged the enraged Scorpion off down a side street.

            “This place is so weird,” said the girl, voice shaking.

            He put one hand on her shoulder and steered her towards his house. “You should hear the Yelp reviews.”

\-----~~~~~~~~--_-=====~~~

            “Don’t ever ask the carnival folk how they came to be here,” he said, handing her a blanket and a cup of tea and sitting next to her on the loveseat.

            “Isn’t it just a tiny bit of an overreaction to skewer me on a switchblade?” she protested.

            He merely grunted. He’d seen worse.

            “All I’m saying is, I’ve heard therapy is a thing.”

He chuckled. “Just let me know next time you decide to get yourself stabbed.” He wondered silently whether she could die down here. The rest of them couldn’t, but could she?

The girl pouted. “Ignoring that…” She took a sip of the tea he’d made. It was bitter, but at the same time very calming. “Where does one get tea down here?”

            “I, uh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I keep sort of a… an herb garden.”

            Her eyes flickered up to his face to see if he was kidding. He was twiddling his thumbs and avoiding her gaze. “Satan keeps an herb garden.”

            “Yes, and I’m relying on your silence on the subject,” he snapped.

            She snorted when she giggled. His face softened into a small smile. He’d never had such a cute pain in the ass.

            “I think a man should be entitled to his herb garden,” she said, with mock solemnity.

            “There are herbs that thrive under these conditions,” Satan replied, conversationally.

A door opened. “Sire?”

“What do you need?” grumbled Satan at the meek Ticket-Taker.

“There is a rumor, Sire,” said the Ticket-Taker. “That the Scorpion is receiving 500 lashes.”

Satan looked over at the girl. She was frozen, teacup halfway to her lips. Not taking his eyes off of her, he said, “That’s correct.”

The Ticket-Taker looked her, drinking tea under a blanket. “I understand wanting to protect your new friend, Sire, but the Scorpion was scheduled to go on tonight.”

“Put the Magician in,” said the Devil.

The Ticket-Taker looked like he hadn’t quite heard properly. “What?”

“The Magician,” repeated Satan, using his most even voice for the benefit of the girl on his couch. “He always wants in on the action - give him a spot tonight.”

“The Magician is incompetent,” said the Ticket-Taker. “He does hackneyed tricks with a decomposing rabbit. Are you sure?”

“Do it,” said Satan, and continued to drink his tea.

The Ticket-Taker looked at Satan, slack-jawed, before saying, “Yes Sire,” and bolting from the room.

Satan stared straight ahead, waiting for the storm.

“You had someone flayed?” she said quietly.

“He tried to stab you.”

“500 lashes? He won’t be able to walk,” she said.

“He tried. To stab you.”

“I need to see him,” she said.

“Definitely not.”

“You need to apologize to him,” she said.

“Never,” he said.

“But”-

“I will never be sorry,” he said, eyes blazing as he stared her down.

She went quiet. He knew she hadn’t let it go.

            They both stared into the fireplace. Satan only looked away when he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and realized that she had fallen asleep. In a gesture very unlike the expected behavior of the king of Hell, he put his arm around her. “Sweet dreams,” he crooned in her ear.

She stirred in her slumber.

\-----~~~~~~~~--_-=====~~~

She stood up. “Hello?” Her voice echoed in pitch-darkness that seemed to go on forever.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson?” said a booming voice that emanated from above. “It would seem your foolishness knows no bounds.”

“Who are you?”

There was silence for a moment. “You have forgotten us.”

“I don’t know who I am,” she said. “Can you tell me?”

“I can show you,” said the voice.

“Wait”- A light so pure and bright that she had to shield her eyes enveloped her. She fell to her knees but there was no floor. She was unsure of whether she was screaming or not as a colossal humming noise shook her entire body and she tumbled through the void.

All at once, the light and the sound ceased and she fell onto a hardwood floor in a dingy little room. Footsteps approached the closed door, so she scuttled behind a cabinet and hid.

The person who entered was humming. The voice, the melody… so familiar... The girl peered around the edge of the cabinet and saw herself. The projection of herself dusted a collection of paint bottles and jars with a feather duster. The girl stood up and opened her mouth to address the other self, but fell back into the thrumming abyss of light.

She watched herself listening to a record player with a small crowd of others, all of them smiling, eerily content to be stagnant. Her own face was the only displeased one. She fell back through the emptiness and fell into the corner of a room full of dolls, each one perfect, each one exactly the same. She watched herself break down into tears and was hit with the sharp pain of isolation, all-encompassing loneliness. She watched herself steal a book from a dusty shelf and remembered everything she had read. She watched herself make sketch after sketch of Lucifer with crayons swiped from a supply room and utter a gasp of horror as a shadow loomed over her. She watched herself shield her eyes and then it all dissolved into light again. She found herself sprawled on a cold dirt floor back in the dark, endless cavern. “I remember.”

“You are not welcome here anymore,” said the booming voice.

She sat up on her knees defiantly. “I’m fine right where I am.”

“Then Heaven is closed to you!” shouted the voice, and the ground shook so hard that she fell backwards. Backwards into a pool of light, screaming, “I don’t care!” at the top of her lungs as she fell.

\-----~~~~~~~~--_-=====~~~

The Devil looked down at the girl sleeping in his lap. It had been two hours; perhaps it was time to wake her? He put a hand on one of her shoulders and shook her lightly. Slowly, she dragged her body out of sleep, and then raised her head to face Satan. He put out one hand to steady her, since her eyes were still closed. She looked calm, so calm, like the stillest lake or the blackest night. The ground trembled ever so slightly. He started to say, “Are you alright?” but then she opened her eyes and he saw that she was not.

Because from her eye sockets came a violent stream of white light, and when she opened her mouth, he heard an ethereal chord, like music from a howling abyss. He clutched her to him, unable to help, begging her to stay, as the floor of Hell rumbled like a starving tiger and the sky was illuminated starkly by searing flashes of lightning. Faint screaming could be heard from the populated areas of the carnival. It gave him goosebumps.

Perhaps it took two minutes, or maybe twenty, but the light dimmed and then extinguished, and the noise died down, and the girl’s eyes focused on the Devil’s face. The lightning subsided and the earthquake calmed as she stared at him from her safe place in his arms. “What happened? You look like you’re panicking.” Then she, herself, looked panicked. “Did I snore? Did I drool on you?”

“We should talk,” said the Devil, hugging her closer.

“Worse than drooling?” she said. Her voice was muffled in his clothes.

He rolled his eyes.

“Sire!” Belatedly, the Ticket-Taker burst into the room.

“It was an accident,” said the Devil. “She didn’t mean to.”

The Ticket-Taker fumbled and almost dropped his clipboard. “Sire, do you mean to tell me this girl shares your atmospheric connection?”

The girl swallowed hard. “What are you guys talking about?”

The Devil looked back at her pale face, purple shadows under both eyes. “Like I said, we should talk.”

\-----~~~~~~~~--_-=====~~~

“Dawn is a good name for you. It suits you.” He pulled a weed from the soil. “The Dawn of a new era.”

Dawn sat curled up in the corner of Satan’s herb garden. She had just woken up from a two-hour nap but she was physically exhausted. All her muscles ached, she had a pounding headache, and her limbs were shaking.

“You know, this may seem petty now,” said Satan. “But I’m sorry I left you alone.”

Dawn sat quietly, biting her lip, for a few minutes. Finally, she said, “I don’t know why, but I always associated fallen angels with power, and control, and _not_ having my life flash before my eyes on Lucifer’s couch.”

“You feel out of control,” he replied, awkwardly sitting down next to her on the ground.

“Well, yeah,” she said. “And you said I changed the weather? How?”

“We can investigate.” Looking away from her face, he handed her a purple flower.

She kissed him on the cheek. “I won’t tell anyone about the flower garden either.”

If Satan could blush… “Obviously, you just woke up,” he said. “But let me know if you want to go back to sleep. I can tell you’re feeling under the weather, merely as a turn of phrase,” he added at the last minute, cursing himself for a moment.

“As comfortable as your sofa is,” Dawn began.

“I wouldn’t put you on the sofa,” mumbled the Devil.

Dawn stopped short. “Oh. Okay.” She forgot what she had been about to say. What kind of bed did Lucifer sleep in? Briefly she pictured him lying under a pink princess canopy, which made her laugh, but then another thought intruded. It was the thought of lying in bed _with_ him. She figured that, realistically, he would probably insist upon sleeping on the sofa so that she could have the bed, but the idea of clinging to him under the covers had seduced her. She looked up; he was looking at her.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, as if he was privy to the movie reel in her head wherein she was drifting off to sleep nestled in his arms, with his even breaths on the back of her neck.

“Um.” Her heart skipped a beat. “I was just picturing you as a princess in a canopy bed.”

“Do you want to see it?” He asked. “I happen to think it’s fit for a princess, but only you could really be the judge of that.”

“Smooth,” she said.

“I try.”

            There was a sudden flying sensation and then he was carrying her in his arms again. Her heart raced as he carried her back into the structure. It wasn’t quite a tent, but it also wasn’t entirely a house. Most of the rooms had old wood panels and ornate furniture, but one or two kept to the carnival theme, like the dressing room with Satan’s vanity and clothes closet.

            The bedroom was simple, uncluttered, unlike the dressing room that had his clothes draped over everything enough to make the furniture unrecognizable. The walls were white, and the bedsheets were black. There was a nightstand with nothing on it but a journal, bookmarked with a pen. Dawn had the sudden wish to read that journal, to know what Satan liked to write about. His dreams and fears - everyone had those, she thought. She was distracted from the journal when he set her down on the bed. “Do you think you’re going to need an extra pillow?” he asked, looking down at Dawn from where he stood, three feet away.

            “No, thank you,” she said. “What are you going to do while I’m asleep?”

            “Perhaps consult the Ticket-Taker about tonight’s show,” he said. “Write a poem, garden. You know, Devilish things.” He grinned.

            She looked around at the bare room. “It’s just, I had a thought…”

            “A thought?” asked the Devil. “What kind of a thought?”

            “What if…” she pursed her lips and fidgeted on the edge of his bed. “... we both slept?”

            “It’s kind of you to think of my wellbeing,” he said. “But I can sleep tonight. Please make yourself comfortable, Dawn.” As he turned to walk away, he felt a hand grab his sleeve.

            When he turned back, there stood Dawn, on tiptoe, inches from his face and clutching his coat. “Stay,” she breathed.

He looked down at her rosy cheeks and glistening eyes, her flushed lips. Slowly, he said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked, her hand on his cheek.

“Falling,” he said.

“Falling?” she pressed.

“In love,” he said. “With an angel who tumbled into Hell and wanted nothing more than to ride the merry-go-round with the Devil.”

“Then we fall together,” she whispered in his ear.

            She felt the warmth of his breath caress her neck. His fingertips were clawed like a bird of prey, but the rough, bony hands that clasped her own were human. The heat of his solid torso enveloped her like a blanket. Her head sank into his chest as his strong human arms wrapped around her. She felt a palm run down her back… back up to her neck… back down to her waist… and a sigh escaped into his leather lapel when it began to rub circles into her lower back. His chest shook with gentle laughter when she let her body melt into his. When she looked up into his eyes, the golden glimmer she found there negated her hesitation at his lack of heartbeat. She stood on her tiptoes with both hands on his shoulders (surprisingly muscular shoulders, for someone who barely left his room), lips parted as her eyelids lowered. He inclined his head to meet her soft mouth with his own.

            "You're shaking," she whispered, an inch from his black lips. Her thumb grazed the lower one slowly.

            "It's been a very long time since someone has…" The longing in her eyes and her fingers exploring the horns on his head made him lose his train of thought. "-taken this kind of an interest in me."

            "Maybe we should sit down then."

            Somehow they found the edge of his bed and maneuvered him onto it. His hands guided her hips to rest against his own, eliciting a little purr from her. "Is this what you want?" he said, resuming rubbing her back.

            The fervent kisses that followed ultimately answered that question. When he let out a soft moan into her mouth, his chest rumbled against her. She licked his lower lip and felt his laugh against her body before she felt the forked tongue in her mouth. He pulled back when he felt her thighs tighten around his hips and her heavy breaths become whines.

            "Are you laughing at me?" Her words were uttered between gasps for air.

            He pried her body off of him, still laughing. "You must be the only girl in the universe," he said, wheezing. "To be aroused by horns and a forked tongue."

            She started laughing too.

            They fell back onto the bed. "It’s an unfamiliar sentiment," he observed as he pushed several loose strands of her hair behind her ears. “But this doesn’t feel wrong to me.”

            “It’s not,” she mumbled as she nestled against the side of his warm body and closed her eyes. A tiny smile played upon her lips and he didn't have the heart to move even though his arm was asleep.

 


End file.
